


Anatomy of the Red Dirt City

by riversidebench



Category: Broken Sky: Clavior
Genre: Heist AU, Wild West AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:46:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29593014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riversidebench/pseuds/riversidebench
Summary: There aren't many laws of the east that reach the small town of Arrya, making the place fertile ground for chaos and corruption. Who better to take part in the revelry but an unlikely group consisting of a short-tempered entertainer, a shy bouncer, a cowgirl from the fringes of town, a missionary slowly losing all patience, a mysterious newcomer with unknown intentions, and another with no idea what it means to live in the wild west.
Kudos: 4





	1. Tala

The small town of Arrya was covered in a perpetual layer of red dust. This much to Tala Velle’s apathy, as the common dirt in this stretch of the west merely settled into the fabric of the young woman’s already red clothes. The performer’s lazy fingers plucked the taut strings of her banjo, letting the twanged notes ring and then dissipate one by one through the arid morning. There was no one in the billiards hall to play for in the early dawn hour, unless the drunk slumped over at the bar and Cedany Writtingham, the tender working around his sleeping form, counted as an attentive audience.

Barefoot and still in her thin slip meant to serve as a nightgown, also red, Tala continued the stagnant melody, her gaze set out the south facing window. She wasn’t sure if it was the glare of the rising sun coming through the dirt-caked panes to the one to her left or her eyes adjusting from sleep, but she had yet to spot what she was looking for. 

“I thought you had a client last night,” Cedany called from across the room, voice laced with amused accusation.

Without breaking her stare out across the distant sky, Tala answered. “I did.”

A few seconds pause.

There were two things Tala had learned for certain during her three month’s stay in Arrya. The first was that Cedany Writtingham was a reliable gossip, and for a moment despite that, she thought Cedany was going to uncharacteristically let the conversation end at that. 

“How was it?”

Tala chuckled. There it was.

At this she turned, grinning as she faced the older woman who was trying and failing to appear nonchalant as she wiped through the overnight dust gathered on the glasses. 

She clicked her tongue. “Cedany, you know I act good on my clients’ privacy.”

Cedany shrugged. “I only ask because you’re usually good as dead after your nights. Sometimes I can’t get you in here until noon.” 

Tala only smirked, turning back to face the window.

“Was it that bad?”

Tala shook her head without looking back. “Not at all.”

She could feel Cedany’s eyes on the back of her neck as she let a quick silence fall. Goddamn it. Cedany was too charming for Tala to leave without explanation. In any other town her attachment and rapport with another person to this degree would mark her time to exit, and yet, despite her imminent plans to, she still couldn’t find the paranoia that usually drove her out.

“She was…” Tala weighed her next word on her tongue, careful to not insult the poor, pretty young woman who had come to her the night before, nervous as a doe. “Unexperienced.”

Tala didn’t have to imagine the whites of Cedany’s eyes she was surely showing. The tender’s expression of feigned surprise was as common as a drunk at the counter.

“Altogether?”

“Oh no, just with…you know.” Tala tilted her head back a fraction to wink at Cedany, who smiled and hummed, satisfied with what she assumed would be the most she would get out of the younger one.

She really should be back with the woman. Even though she had no plans to stay for an extended period and did not work directly and totally under Sima Torraveck’s instruction, the tavern owner preferred she at least follow the common courtesy standards that her employees agreed to, that including remaining at their clients’ side until they concluded their visit. And following those standards was the least she could do for Sima’s kind willingness to let her stay at Kixos for a reduced rate and complete agency over when and how often she took work.

She wouldn’t go back just yet though. Only a few more minutes of looking. And waiting. After all, she wasn’t meant for Arrya much longer.

The beams of sunlight coming through the windows she sat against had just begun to warm the stage space, and with it, the exposed skin of her arms and shoulders. A shiver ran down her spine, the kind one gets when their body reacts to that sort of change in heat. The small shakes took their course down through her toes and out through her fingers, who never faltered on the strings of the instrument.

For a while longer the two worked in comfortable silence, Tala strumming in the morning sun and Cedany getting ready for the day’s work, which was going to be bustling by the end of the evening. No doubt due to—

There. Just above the horizon created by the short wooden rooftops. A thin whisper of black smoke against the clear blue sky, curling in the air. Still looking to be about ten minutes out from Arrya’s station.

The second thing Tala had learned for certain during her three month’s stay in Arrya, was that the train always arrived in the early Saturday morning.

Tala stopped strumming then. Hand placed carefully on the body of the banjo, she bounced her knee, a rush of nervous energy rendering her incapable of stillness. On any other Saturday the train meant an influx of new faces for Better Skies Billiards and Kixos Tavern. It also meant the possibility of recognition that would trigger a desperate escape. Today’s train however, with luring novelty, came the intoxicating promise of opportunity.

She could bask in that feeling.

“Tala?”

She would bask in that feeling later.

The familiar voice, not of Cedany, came from behind her. She turned to face the, dare she say, disappointed, expression that belonged to Mina Goldpetal; as though she were a child caught with forbidden sweets.

“She’s awake.”

Tala winced. She thought she had at least another hour before her client was destined to wake. The timidness from the night before must have carried over into a morning anxiety.

Tala kept the gaze of the other girl as she nodded, setting the instrument against the wall as she rose and made her way to Mina, meant to guide her next door.

“I’ll come back for that as soon as I’m done,” she said to Cedany, gesturing over to the banjo.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Poor Cedany was now attempting to stir the drunk. August, she managed to recall. Where he hadn’t been a bother before, now he lay in the middle of the wooden counter she was trying to clean.

Mina turned when Tala reached her, leading her downstairs where a strategically placed hidden door connecting the cellars of the two establishments. More of an open secret amongst the employees of the two businesses, its purpose was to provide an easy, clandestine method of escape to Sima’s employees from precarious situations. The passageway had not had any use in recent years, much to Sima’s gratitude. Now it was primarily Tala who had given it any regular visit in the last few months, traveling between her work and stay at Sima’s to her performances at Cedany’s. Mostly, it kept her from having to confront the drunks who waited for her outside the hall for her on late nights. It had been worse when she’d first arrived but there was still the occasional bastard who lost his hands with a drink. Nothing she couldn’t take care of herself, just an inconvenience she preferred to avoid.

“She just caught me, so Sima doesn’t know,” Mina muttered as they passed through the doorway.

Tala sighed in relief. She was sure she wouldn’t have been in any actual trouble, but a scolding from Sima was never an ideal place to find oneself in.

They made their way up the stairs leading to Kixos, letting Mina take a quick look around to confirm Sima’s absence before the two ushered themselves in and up to the second level. Mina even led her to the door at the end of the hall, to one of the two bedrooms that faced the street, and stepped aside, gesturing for Tala to continue on her own.

Tala stopped before letting herself in, instead turning to face Mina. She had served as a reliable bouncer for Sima for the last few years. While not looking the part with her thinner silhouette and smaller stature, Tala had been around long enough to see her down three men where they stood, twice with the wicked thick, heavy wooden staff she now had strapped to her back, and once with her bare knuckles. All three were in protecting Tala, much to Sima’s annoyance, and Tala had taken care to dress the scrapes on Mina’s knuckles after the last.

If Tala believed in a god, she would pray to them in the name of anyone who was foolish enough to get into a barfight with Mina.

She picked up Mina’s hand, squeezing it.

“Thank you.”

“It’s no problem. Just be nice, she seemed….”

“Nervous?”

Mina nodded. “I told her you’d gone to take care of yourself.”

The motion of Mina’s head caught the rays of light coming in through the street facing window at the end of the hallway, her dark, impossibly blue-tinted hair catching the light as it moved.

Tala cocked her head, grinning.

“You could take clients if you wanted to, you know.”

Mina’s pale face instantly flushed crimson. Gently but firmly, she pulled her hand out of Tala’s, using it to scratch at the back of her neck like she always did when she was flustered.

“I—what—no—…” she stammered.

Tala smiled wider, amused in her achievement. She rolled her eyes.

“Not everyone is looking to fuck, Mina. Sometimes people just want to talk and they want you to humor them.”

Mina’s eye went wide and her hand stopped moving.

“You think I’m good at talking to people?” Her amused tone revealed she had caught on to Tala’s deliberate jest.

At that, Tala laughed, louder than she meant to and louder than she should have, given that they were still in the early morning with a house full of sleeping people.

“Oh, the best,” she said, winking at her friend.

She placed her hand on the handle leading into the room, the metal cool on her palm. Still, she couldn’t go in. Just one more thing…

“You’re not too busy today, are you?”

“Not really. Do you need me to get you something?”

“Some _one_ , actually. You’ve met Bora, right?”

It was a rhetorical question. She’d been the one to introduce the two despite them living in the same town for the last few years.

If it were possible, Mina flushed to an even deeper shade of red.

It was also no hard task to observe the instant infatuation the two had had at that first introduction.

“Yeah, yeah. Bora, like the cowgirl, Bora, right? The one who lives a few minute’s walk west on Tempest’s farm, Bora?”

“That’s the one. See if you could convince her to come into town tonight. Extend an invitation from me for a billiards game or two at Better Skies. Drinks on me.”

Mina nodded again, and again, and again.

“I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

With one last smile, part of it made from the amusement that came with teasing Mina, she turned the handle.

The short woman inside the room stood leaning against the wall just left of the now open window, the new light illuminating her delicate frame as it stood, silhouetted against her thin, pale nightgown.

At the sound of Tala’s entrance, she turned to face her, brown skin, eyes, and chestnut hair taking on a subtle glow in the morning sun.

Tala approached, taking her small hand into her own, placing a gentle kiss against its back.

“I’m sorry I was not here when you woke.”

“The girl with the blue hair lied to me.”

Despite the lack of any malice in her tone, Tala stiffened. Caught, but she wouldn’t let Mina be blamed for her own gap in responsibility.

“Mirelle, I—”

“You play beautifully on that instrument of yours.” Mirelle smiled, nodding towards the open window.

Tala’s brows furrowed. She stuck her head just outside the window and looked down and right, where indeed, she could catch an obstructed view of the corner stage through the window she’d sat against not five minutes before. The saloon doors that led into Better Skies too would have allowed the sound of her strumming make its way up to the room.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Head bowed, she pulled herself back inside, smiling this time.

“Thank you for the complement. Still, I am sorry for abandoning you this morning. I know last night was a new experience for you, I just hope I haven’t stained it.”

Mirelle stepped closer, inviting herself into Tala’s space. Raising an unsteady hand, she cupped Tala’s cheek, and Tala let herself melt into the feeling of her warm palm.

“Last night was fun,” she said, eyes boring into Tala’s, “and waking up to the sound of music was hardly going to ruin that.”

Tala grinned, taking Mirelle’s hand away from her face, squeezing it in her own.

“I’m glad I could help. Is there anything else I can do before the end of your stay?”

Mirelle’s skin deepened with a flush as she cast her eyes downward to her feet, which shifted with her weight as she began to fidget. She raised one shoulder, letting her head fall atop it, completing the picture of her bashfulness.

“Do you think…is there, do you have the time to…”

Tala was sure her teeth glinted in the sunlight the way her lips pulled back to reveal a devilish grin.

“You want to start from where we left off?”

Mirelle looked back up to her, nodding, a small smile formed from newfound confidence on her face.

“Alright then. Please, allow me.”

Without further warning, Tala bent and lifted Mirelle by the backs of her upper thighs. She let out a quiet gasp as her legs naturally wrapped around Tala’s slim waist. Tala’s clientele normally stood taller than she did, so this was one of the rare opportunities where she had the pleasure to lift and handle a partner, which she’d come to enjoy, perhaps too much for how little the chance occurred. Without breaking a sweat she stepped to the window, shutting the glass before depositing Mirelle on the spring mattress, whom she followed onto the bed and whose legs she found herself between for the next stretch of time.

⸙ ⸙ ⸙ ⸙ ⸙ ⸙ ⸙

The afterglow shared by the two women was interrupted by the blast of a train horn. The sound could be heard every so often for the last while but this one was close enough to break them from their rest. Tala rose from the bed and donned her red slip for the second time that morning. Glancing at the mirror, she caught sight of a new, blooming, purple bruise just under her clavicle. Amused, she turned back to face Mirelle, still bare-chested in the bed, finger pointing to the blemish. 

Mirelle caught the detail and giggled.

“Sorry.”

Tala laughed. She had the slightest feeling Mirelle didn’t mean it, which she didn’t mind.

No longer streaming directly through the window, the sun had risen to true morning, and with it came the sounds of others making their way through town and into the new day. Even if the two wanted to go again, doing so would leave them joining the rest of the world much too late in the day, and Tala had a prior commitment coming with the train. Mirelle too seemed to feel the imminent conclusion to their encounter and sat up to meet Tala as she made her way back to the bed.

“Here.” Tala flipped the last of the sheets off of Mirelle’s form and grabbed onto her ankles, pulling her to the edge of the bed. Mirelle only laughed as she felt herself being dragged.

“Let me help you get ready,” Tala said, producing one of Mirelle’s knee high stockings and slipping it up her calf. For the next few minutes, they worked in tandem to get Mirelle back into her clothes.

“I play the fiddle, you know,” Mirelle said as Tala helped her slip on her outermost skirt. Tala’s head jerked up from where she was knelt on the ground to meet the other girl’s eye. Pleasant surprise touched her expression.

“Or, did, at least. I’m not sure how well I could do it now.”

“I wish I could say I had one for you to demonstrate. I would have loved to hear it.” Tala returned to the skirt, stepping behind Mirelle to finish fastening the buttons at her waist.

Without warning, and just as the two had begun to pull Mirelle’s shirt over her head, the door to the small room flew open, Mina standing in wait, eyes widening as she took in the two women.

Despite Mirelle’s modestly newly intact Tala stepped in front of her, shielding her from Mina’s view as the instinct to protect her client’s privacy urged her body forward.

“Can I help you, Mina?” Tala asked. There was an attempt on her part to hide the irritation she felt, but there hadn’t even been a knock.

Realizing her mistake and out of respect for the other two, Mina pointed her head downward, looking at the floor as she spoke.

“Sorry to barge it. It’s Cedany. She said it was something about your banjo.”

The mention of her instrument struck something in Tala’s mind. She stiffened, a rush of nervousness clearing whatever lethargy morning sex had brought on.

She nodded. “Alright. Give me a moment,” to which Mina took as her invitation to step back out of the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Tala turned back to Mirelle, unable to form her apology before the other girl spoke.

“It’s okay. Take care of what you need to.”

“Thank you. Please, wait here for me. I want to see you off, it’s the least I can do.”

Mirelle smiled. “Alright.”

Tala managed to slip on her long canvas coat and a pair of stiff boots, not much a mind for her own modesty, before meeting Mina outside the room.

“What about my banjo,” she asked, teeth griding, as the two made their way downstairs.

“She mentioned something about a man named August? Said she went to the back storeroom for only a moment and when she came back, he and your banjo were gone.”

Tala fumed, face an angry, deep red. Her lip curled, showing off her teeth as her sneer built with each step.

“Mina, do you still have that rope you never use?” Tala asked, voice tense and calm.

Mina nodded, pulling the tool off her hip, previously hidden from sight under her own coat, and handed it to Tala’s already outstretched hand.

“Do you need me to follow?”

“I’ll be fine.”

Mina opened the front door for her as she exited, hesitating herself. She looked to the front desk where Sima now sat behind, observing the scene. The older woman sighed, nodding toward where Tala had just left as she rolled her eyes, a sign to follow despite Tala’s confidence.

Cedany was waiting outside the saloon doors to Better Skies, pacing.

“Which way did he go?” Tala yelled from the porch of Kixos, her momentary patience gone with the first step she took outside. Cedany’s head jerked over to face her and the two approached each other.

“Tala, I’m so sorry. I swear by the lord he wasn’t budging even when I tried to force him off the bar. I didn’t even hear him leave.”

Tala laid a gentle hand on Cedany’s forearm. She knew the anger was easy to spot on her face but she didn’t want to place any blame where it didn’t belong.

“Cedany, I promise you’re fine. Please just tell me you saw where he went.”

“I can’t say for certain, but I think I spot him heading south, towards the station. It was just an outline but it looked like he was carrying something.”

Tala took a deep breath in through her nose, trying to clear her head. A quick thank you later and she was off, hunting for her prized possession, hands kept busy as she tied a lasso with the rope lent from Mina.

Arrya wasn’t a large town. Made up of primarily a main road and a few other shorter streets that lead to the few farms dotting the perimeter and surrounding land. This mean that it was no struggle to find August.

There he was, just as Cedany has said he would be, heading south, banjo not just in his grasp but held in his arms as if attempting to play. The closer she got the better she could hear his sorry attempt at a song with his slurred singing and violent plucking.

Approaching from the north, she noticed the train had finally pulled into the station, passengers unloading onto the deck that gave them a clear view of the street ahead of them.

Tala shook her head. The least she could do was make a show of this, entertain the newcomers, and the passion to perform wasn’t hard to pull from her rage.

“August!” Her shout rang out across the wide street. Heads turned to see who it was that broke the regular noise of business. Some of the eyes of the observers widened, recognizing Tala as she stalked towards the man, and mouths opened when they realized why. Tala, while still a newer resident, had quickly gained a reputation in her ability to perform, and part of that reputation consisted of her protectiveness of her instrument.

One of those who’s attention she caught was of Sister Aofie Narrack. The missionary’s eyes were wide and even in her anger Tala couldn’t help but find some amusement in the holy woman’s scandalized expression. No doubt Father Davis would hear about the absolute wretched soul that was Tala Velle coming down the street in nothing but a nightgown and a coat by the end of the day. Not that it mattered, at least not now. 

August didn’t turn to face her after she’d called to him, unaware of her presence, still enraptured by his own musical world.

Closing the distance, now only thirty feet between the two, she pondered how she could rope him without causing damage to her banjo. She shouted again, readying the lasso in her hands.

“August! Look at me you bastard!”

This time he heard. His head cocked to the side, trying to gauge the origin of the call before finally turning around. Assessing the intention in her face, even as drunk as he was, was not difficult. He began to step back.

“Oh hey, you’re that—”

There was but an instant between the time his left foot lift off the ground and when Tala had thrown the rope, pulling it taut as it caught around his ankle. His momentum still shifting backward and unable to catch himself, he toppled, falling flat on his back.

Tala gathered the rope in her hand as she closed in. She could hear his wheezing as she stepped forward, breath knocked out of him by his hard slam into the street. The position of his fall had managed to cradle the banjo against his gut and chest and it had yet to even touch the red dirt.

She stepped over him, leaning down and yanking the instrument from his hands, his grip significantly loosened by his unsteady hands and shock.

“Yes, I’m that bitch who plays music, and the next time I see you coming near my instrument you’re gonna pray there is a god in heaven.”

She straightened, stepping away. She’d garnered more attention than she may have liked but at least the whole affair was finished. Surveying the people around her, most of those on the street itself had gone back to whatever their work had demanded once it was clear the scene was over. It was mainly those on the train platform still watching with unapologetic enthusiasm.

Tala took a moment to look the small crowd over, searching for one in particular. She was informed they’d be a shorter, blonde woman, with striking blue eyes. Basil. A strange name in proper society but nothing stranger than anything else in the lawless west. No luck though, as no one who’d so far deboarded resembled the description. No matter. She couldn’t approach her now even if she wanted to, still only in a nightgown and coat. And with the newly concluded confrontation, she didn’t think it wise to draw any attention onto herself and her interactions, something bound to happen if she proceeded now.

Tala took a last look at the group on the platform, making an attempt to familiarize herself with the new faces. She would have thought them all the same as the rest who passed through Arrya, but then she caught one’s eye. A woman who looked to be the same age as her, brown skin and eyes, and tight, curly black hair that fell to her shoulders. She wore a nicer looking blue dress that Tala instantly knew the woman would regret ever bringing out of her suitcase. And she was pretty, much prettier than Tala had come to expect out here, or maybe it was just Tala. She stood arm in arm with a tall man. Pale olive skin and longer brown hair drawn into a short ponytail at the base of his neck, he at least looked better prepared for the inherent dirtiness of the town with his long leather coat and a stetson to shield his eyes from the sun.

Her attention didn’t last long on him, as it was quickly drawn back to the pretty woman. With no thought to their relation, and unable to resist the growing urge, she winked. The effect was instant and intense, as even from a distance Tala could see the woman flush a shade darker. Tala grinned.

With banjo back in hand and giddy new confidence in her step, she put her back to the platform and continued north. She wasn’t even upset when she spotted Mina who she guessed had followed her anyway, a good hundred feet away. Strumming as she walked, she began her way back to the Kixos Tavern alongside her friend, invigorated by the promise of change with what was to unfold in the coming days.


	2. Minerva

The morning sun on Minerva’s face was nothing compared to the heat under her skin. Equal parts flattered and mortified, she watched on as the girl with the dark hair and generously visible pale skin—impossibly so given how exposed this town seemed to be at first glance—sauntered away from the man on the ground. Her actions had appeared effortless and her ability to preserve the instrument, which Minerva assumed to be her true target, was impressive.

She was still stiff in mixed emotions when Heian chuckled beside her.

“Welcome to Arrya.”

Minerva shook her head, still under the spell of the bold performance.

“I—she just—do you know her?”

Heian smirked as he shook his own head.

“No, she must be new. Remember, I haven’t been back here in years. I’m sure there’ve been lots of things that have changed. Hopefully more than enough.” The last part of his statement had been muttered, quiet enough that Minerva guessed it was a slip of an internal thought she wasn’t supposed to hear.

Before they had left for Arrya, Heian had explained to her that the reason he’d ever left in the first place was because there were a few people who had been looking to extract things from him they believed they were owed. In the end, they wanted his life. In that, he was right to hope for change, she thought, and she didn’t expect any less than an appropriate anxiety to take root in him while they were still getting settled.

It was appropriate enough that she had garnered a new nervousness herself as they’d gotten closer to the town. The train they’d arrived on had only a few cars save the engine and caboose, and those cars held just a handful of people each. Glancing around the platform now she could guess there were maybe two dozen who had deboarded. Enough to make a small town busy for the next few days; little enough that those who were looking on with intent would have no trouble finding what they were hunting for. If anyone recognized Heian upon first glance at his return, she had no doubt word of it would spread within the week.

The more she let the thought simmer the more anxious she became of the potential danger. Her hands clenched on Heian’s arm.

“Are you sure you’re safe here? We could still go. The train hasn’t left yet.”

For the first time since they’d arrived Heian looked into her face.

What she had not expected was the boyish look of wonder painted across his expression.

“Minerva, my darling, I can’t say with any certainty I’m safe anywhere.”

Minerva scoffed, but still found herself grinning from his infectious enthusiasm. She tugged at his arm.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” He looked back out into the street and Minerva followed his glance.

The girl in red had disappeared by this point, and the town was well into its morning routine. A few dozen men were grouped together and seemed to be heading north, most of them carrying mining equipment on their persons. A few shop owners stood on their porches, arranging their wares in a fashion they thought most convincing. Most of these displays were concentrated towards the southernmost buildings, obviously meant to entice newcomers. Further down she spot a butcher standing halfway out her doorframe, seeing off the latest customer who carried a heavy, paper-wrapped parcel under his arm. Above it all, what looked to be just over half a mile’s distance from the platform, stood a white steeple. A church no doubt, but the building itself was obstructed by the curve of the street that led northeast about halfway down its length. Trying to take in much more proved fruitless as it was increasingly impossible to discern person from person, building from building. So much movement and noise and heat from the sun and the anxiety that still gripped her after Heian’s teasing.

Minerva took in a deep, shaky breath, closing her eyes, trying to find stillness.

She felt Heian shifting next to her, pulling out of her grasp, to which her eyes shot open, desperate to hang onto anything familiar. But her excitedness turned out to be unwarranted, as he merely stepped between her and the sight of the street. He laid one hand on her shoulder and used his other to cup her cheek. She would have preferred to feel the heat and callouses of his skin against her face instead of the warmed leather gloves he now wore, but the weight in his touch was still enough to calm her. His hazel eyes bore into hers, boyish expression gone and replaced with one of sincerity.

“Minerva, please believe me when I say I would never put you in harm’s way. If I truly thought there was _any_ danger to you here, we would have never boarded this train.”

Minerva let out a sigh, moving her hands to cup his face and pulled him closer, resting her lips against his for a chaste kiss. She let out a small grunt as the rim of his hat knocked against her forehead. Their shared moment of intimacy ended in giggles from the both of them as the failed adjustment to his new attire made its first and surely not last appearance.

Heian moved the stetson further back along his head, allowing his brow to rest against hers as they shared a breath.

“I love you.”

Minerva smiled. Every time she’d heard those words coming from his mouth it felt like the first. This was no different.

“And I you.”

She didn’t imagine this would have been an appropriate scene anywhere but in a godforsaken town like this. Maybe she could learn to love the feeling of godforsaken.

Things moved as expected after their conversation. They managed to account for their luggage, which proved to be quite easy as everything they owned together was packed tightly into three trunks and a large bag. It wasn’t much but it would be enough. This followed by a quick exit off the platform and onto the dirt street.

The rust-colored dust coated the bottom of Minerva’s blue skirts within the first few minutes and her black leather boots even sooner. She should have worn something else, perhaps the pants made of denim Heian had surprised her with. Surely the novel, thick, stiff material would have fared better than her newly ruined dress. 

There was no time wasted in finding a place to stay for the night, as Heian was familiar with the owner of a small inn close to the station, the Mixing Cup, who greeted him with open arms and extended their warm welcome to Minerva as his fiancée. The stout man with ruddy cheeks named Loys Frye led them to a vacant room on the second of three floors where they set their luggage. Minerva had begun to consider the value in unpacking if Heian anticipated securing a more permanent residence within the week when Loys clapped him on the shoulder, claiming his attention.

“Boy, can I speak to you candidly?” Loys motioned his head towards the door, making his desire to speak to Heian alone apparent to the both of them.

Heian looked to Minerva; not for permission, but still waiting on her acknowledgement.

She nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

The two men exited, Heian following Loys. The first man waited for her fiancé to leave the room before closing the door behind them. Footsteps indicated their retreat.

Still weighing the worth of the labor to unpack, Minerva sprawled across the mattress, staring blankly into the ceiling. Someone was walking in the room directly above, and though no light came through between the wooden planks, each of their steps was followed by a creaking that would wake the dead. Tiny motes of dust drifted down with each shift of weight, most caught in midair but some few making the fall all the way down onto Minerva’s face. She didn’t attempt to wipe them away, too entranced by the striations of wood that stretched across every inch of the ceiling.

For the first time since she’d arrived it was still. Though still anxious, the feeling had begun to settle with the introduction of a friendly face. In this room, in this building, in this moment, they were safe.

She didn’t know how long she had gazed for. It could have been seconds or minutes as time seemed to lose meaning in this moment. Distracted by nothing.

She was shaken from it at the sound of a raised voice. Heian’s raised voice.

In an instant she was on her feet. By the time she had reached the door, hand around the knob, she had had the chance to interpret the sound of him. It wasn’t distress, that much she was sure. With Loys’ response, also raised, it was easier to pin the emotions of both men as somewhere in the neighborhood of frustration.

She hesitated at the door, certain now that there was no dire scene to which she should be attending. Even still, the curiosity piqued by the first sense of unease detected from Heian was too tempting to ignore. Without a sound, she opened the door.

They weren’t in the hallway outside, which she had expected given they had walked away only some time prior. As to their current whereabouts, however, Minerva had not a clue.

Leaving the door open she stepped down the hallway with caution, taking it toe-heel. She paused halfway to the staircase, listening, waiting for another sound from the both of whom had gone silent since the initial outburst.

Ear straining, she couldn’t hear a thing but the weight from whatever patron was above, still impossibly loud even at a distance from their pacing. Still, she did not move, waiting for another word from Heian.

Her patience was soon rewarded. Quieter from seconds ago, she could make out the rumble of a familiar voice; a tone she’d come to recognize above all others. Heian was speaking now, and though she could not pick one word from another, she discovered the source of their noise was coming from below.

She stood at the top of the stairs, lips pursed and eyebrows knitted, debating if she should descend. Not because she did not want to continue, only that she feared one misplaced heavy footfall landing on the wrong inch of loose wood would alert them to her presence.

Deciding she could not resist, she continued.

About a third of the way down and she was allowed to stretch her neck out past the railing, looking back towards the furthest end of the establishment.

There: a doorway at the end of the hall left ajar, the back of Heian’s head just visible. His coat was gone and he had taken off his hat and hung his head, shoulders raised as his elbows stood extended, locked straight, as his hands clutched the sides of a small desk. Deeper in the room was Loys, shaking his head.

“Goddamnit Heian. I told you it was no good ever coming back.”

“That was five years ago. Whole cities change in shorter time.”

“Yes, they do, and you should have gone to one of them. Would’ve made you harder to find.”

Heian scoffed. “You mean to tell me she still blames me for it?”

“She doesn’t preach it from Father Davis’ pulpit if that’s what you’re asking. But Tempest has a way with people. Even if they didn’t believe her, I don’t think anyone would question her for killing you dead in the street at high noon.”

Minerva’s blood chilled. Eyes wide. He had seemed so confident at the train platform, excited even. She was beginning to wonder if there was more naïveté behind that boyish enthusiasm than she’d originally noticed.

And the way Loys spoke of it.

Heian hadn’t revealed the details of his parting circumstances and she hadn’t pushed him to reveal them as the reliving of it had seemed to physically pain him. Perhaps not demanding those answers was a mistake as there was certainly a myriad of them he had kept from her, intentionally or otherwise.

Heian didn’t respond for a moment. Two. Minerva had become familiar with the face he wore when contemplating and though she could not see it, she was sure he donned it now.

“You think there’s anything I can do, even just to pacify her?”

Now it was Loys’ turn to think, working his mouth back and forth as he did.

“You could always try meeting her on your terms. Walk yourself out to her place without a weapon before anyone else can tell her you’re back and maybe she’ll take the time of day to listen to you. Show her you’re willing to put yourself, defenseless, on her property. That you mean no harm. Maybe try and show some remorse—" 

“Loys, you sure as hell should know I had nothing to do with—”

“Boy, I don’t care, and frankly what I think doesn’t matter! That woman thinks you’re responsible for the deaths of two of her children. If you want peace, you’re going to have to let her keep thinking so, maybe let her take a few hits at you while you’re there.”

Unable to stop herself, Minerva gasped. Her hand shot to cover her mouth but it was too late. Loys looked beyond where Heian stood, meeting Minerva’s horrified stare. She pulled back from where she’d been leaning over the railings just as Heian had begun to trace Loys’ glance, praying he hadn’t caught sight of her. She shrunk down, collapsing as softly as she could manage onto the steps. Her hands shook, eyes shut tight.

No. _No_.

She refused to believe it. She would not. Could not.

By no means did she believe he had any hand in the death of anyone, that she was sure of; an easy faith. Were she to be proven wrong in that regard she may as well have been engaged to a stranger.

But how could he have hidden this from her? They had only just met the fall before, but this wasn’t a passing detail, a happenstance inconsequential to the life they wanted to spend here in Arrya. Someone here believed he had the deaths of her children on his hands. In a town this small and in the time he’d spent away from here, that sort of information may as well have been fact. In places like Lakebough, it would have been. Based on her own experience—which Minerva would admit was twisted—she was surprised Loys had offered even a civil hello.

She kept as still as would allow her to stay silent, still trying to remain hidden despite being made; and yet she was sure Heian would come around to spot her in just another moment.

And then he didn’t.

“Listen,” Loys said, “I wouldn’t blame you if you up and left now. Train will still be here for another ten minutes and I’m not sure it’d be safe for you and that pretty wife of yours to stay a whole week waiting for the next one to roll in.”

Minerva was still sat on the stairs so she couldn’t say what the back of Heian’s head showed of his emotions, but if he was one thing it was determined, perhaps to a fault. If she knew him, she knew that he would resist this.

She stood. The conversation seemed to have no end in sight, but she was done listening. There was nothing she was going to learn that was as damning as what was just revealed.

Their words still managed to pierce through the relative quiet as she continued upward.

“Arrya is my home, Frye. You know that.”

She was in the second-floor hallway now, and less cautious about where she placed her feet. Where before she couldn’t have distinguished one word from another, now there was a staccato to every syllable, even when she was desperate to not listen.

Walking through their borrowed doorway, she heard the last she would of Loys from their supposed private interaction.

“Home is where you make it, Liadon. I suggest you find it elsewhere.”

⸙ ⸙ ⸙ ⸙ ⸙ ⸙ ⸙

Heian came back to their room thirty minutes later, well after the last blast of the train’s horn had signaled their abandonment in Arrya.

Minerva had returned to her spot on the bed lying faceup at the ceiling. The anxiety that had been settled for all of five minutes had returned and doubled on doubled for what she was forced to contemplate now.

Someone of powerful status here had great reason—no matter the truth or lack of behind it—to want Heian dead or punished or gone or some combination of the three. And Heian hadn’t told her about it. Not in any way that mattered.

_Minerva, please believe me when I say I would never put you in harm’s way. If I truly thought there was any danger to you here, we would have never boarded this train._

The reassurance from not an hour previous rang through her skull like the residual sound of a shot gun. She didn’t consider it a lie, not in the slightest. She didn’t even think he was trying to twist the situation into something more optimistic than it was. What she did know was that Heian was strong-willed, maybe enough that it made him blind to the quite obvious high-risk circumstances he had brought them into.

Minerva rose to face him, resting her weight back on her elbows, waiting to see if he would be the one to speak on her intrusion first. Even if he hadn’t seen her there, Loys seemed close enough to Heian that he would have mentioned if they had a visitor at their clandestine meeting.

Instead, what she saw was Heian unbuckling his gun holster, letting the worn leather slip from his waist.

He nodded towards the bag that carried her belongings.

“You should put those pants on I got you. Easier to get around in them than your dresses.”

Minerva cocked an eyebrow. Was he really not going to talk about what she’d just heard of his status here in Arrya? Was that something the two of them could go on pretending didn’t happen? Unless…

Loys must not have told him.

Pondering what that meant, she slipped off of the quilted blanket, taking a few minutes in silence along with Heian’s aid to doff the dirtied skirts and don a more appropriate choice of garments. After she’d finished fastening the last button at the neck of her blouse, Heian turned to grab his belt, kneeling as he began to work it around her hips.

She laid a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back before he could continue, a confused expression painted on her face.

“Why…?”

He only shrugged, as if the thought of him without a weapon and her taking one on was of no second thought, or something inappropriately questioned.

“Just thought you should get used to wearing one. Really, I should have had it on you as we were leaving Lakebough.”

She removed her hand from his shoulder, instead swinging it out and holding it still so he could continue, which he did, fastening and loosening the adjustments where her frame differed from his.

“I planned on getting one for you when we arrived here anyway. But until then I’d rather you have it.”

He stood as he finished, looking pleased with his handiwork. Too pleased.

He grinned, shaking his head as his intense gaze took her in from head to toe and back, taking careful time as he passed the new accessory both times.

“This isn’t going to be hard, getting used to looking at you with it on.”

Minerva’s complexion deepened as the flattery touched both her heart but mostly something lower, deeper. Now her hands on his shoulders were trying to push him away in earnest as she giggled. She didn’t get the chance to before his hands grasped hers, keeping her against him as he stepped into her space.

“But to be honest with you, Minerva, I think I’d prefer you with it off.”

“You son of a bitch.” She tried to twist her tone into something sarcastic and witty, but it only came out as breathless.

“Complete and utter bastard.”

Her lips journeyed upward to reach his, leaning further into the action than the rules of modest etiquette had allowed back on the public platform. He returned the kiss, eager and wanting and tense.

Even in the midst of their heated exchange, between both of their words and hands and faces, Minerva couldn’t help but find herself distracted; couldn’t help but think of what she knew, what he didn’t know she knew, and how on god’s green, well, red, earth she was going to confront him on what it was she’d learned. Could she even do it at all? Because of course he didn’t plan on omitting the circumstances from her for forever if he really planned on settling in the town where that sort of thing would be a beat in every conversation they were to have for the rest of their lives.

Heian broke the kiss first, sudden and unexpected, leaving the space between them and the moisture on Minerva’s lips cold. He stepped away just as quickly, retrieving the coat and stetson he’d placed on the dresser when he’d first come back into the room.

“Loys is accompanying me to see an old friend. I wanted to stop in and surprise them before word got around that I was back.”

Minerva’s heart fell to her stomach. Of course. Loys had suggested meeting this Tempest without any weapons, and the modest pistol was all Heian had of one. She should have known; should have more strictly refused, but the confusion and nervousness that had fogged her mind with the last piece of information had led her to forget in the moment. The least she could do at this time without revealing what she’d heard was prompt an explanation. So, she tried.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Heian shook his head with easy nonchalance. “Not yet. Later yes, but I’m not sure how long I’ll be today. They’ve been here for a while so I’m hoping they’ll know where I can start on getting us a place. I think more than anything you’d be bored.”

Minerva rolled her eyes. “I think you overestimate my threshold for excitement.”

“Maybe so, dearest. Still, I think it’s best I do this one alone.”

She nodded, reluctant.

Heian approached her again, placing one last kiss onto her forehead, lingering for longer than what was usual for him.

If she hadn’t known better, she would have said it was one meant for goodbye.

A breath later and they were both out of the room, Minerva escorting him downstairs to the open entrance of the Mixing Cup where Loys stood waiting.

“All set, Liadon?”

Heian took in a deep breath, staring into the street before turning back to face his friend.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Loys nodded and gestured for him to exit.

Before he could, Minerva darted forward, grabbing his right hand with both of hers.

“Heian,” she said, eyes boring into his as he turned to face her, “be careful.” She may not have revealed through explicit words that she’d heard where he was heading, but her low, stern tone hid no such knowledge.

Still, he did not seem to catch on, and simply smiled.

“Of course, love.”

He brought her hands up to his lips, kissing them both before letting go and walking out into the sun.

Loys hesitated before following. With Heian out of earshot, she turned to the older man.

“Can you promise me he’ll come back?”

“From this encounter? Yes. Tempest won’t have bloodshed on her own property. Afterward, I can promise nothing. But I assumed you knew that, given what you heard.”

Minerva nodded, hanging her head. At least she may have Heian back in their bed tonight.

“And I can promise there’ll be nothing spoken of you from my mouth. This is Heian’s predicament, not yours.”

She didn’t quite know how that felt. Relief maybe, knowing she would be okay. Despair also, understanding that she may have to spend time alone in a town that killed her fiancé.

“Thank you.”

“Hey, lunch hour, head to Cedany Writtingham’s place, Better Skies Billiards. It’s a further bit north on the main street, corner building with windows that stretch along both walls. Tell her Loys sent you and that he’ll be paying for your tab tonight, hm?”

Again, she nodded, without a word this time, feeling more reserved than ever in the last few weeks. The urge to posture overwhelming in the face of unlikely success and possible ruin.

Loys exited, meeting the now curious Heian outside.

“What, you spreading gossip about me now?” He taunted, ironically unaware.

Loys used his open palm to smack him across the lower back of his head, left exposed by the stetson.

Heian only laughed, walking alongside Loys as they walked north, soon passing out of sight from the doorway behind which Minerva stood.

Still in the shadow of the overhang, eyes squinted against the red dirt growing brighter with the rising sun, she weighed her emotions. Anger? Perhaps, though not enough to warrant an irate reaction. Confused? More than ever.

Helpless?

Goddamned if she would be.

She wasn’t going to let him walk into god-knows-where without her getting a glimpse of what sort of hell she’d have to drag him from if it came to it.

After an impossible minute she left the Mixing Cup, starting after them, or where she’d last seen them going.

Not but a five-minute walk in the same direction and she spotted the two. Their pace was slow, deliberate, inconspicuous. A kind of walk between two friends, not one of a dead man and his reaper.

Minerva followed behind them at a distance, careful to not draw any attention to she herself; a feat she hated to admit was made easier by the denim pants.

That’s not to say she didn’t notice the attention she gathered; even through her focus and nerves she could recognize she was catching more than one eye. Just another example of the curse of small towns, one she wasn’t unfamiliar with. At home they called it a virtue, but now she recognized it only served to be so when you weren’t the novel object of everyone’s attention.

Soon they passed what Minerva assumed to be Better Skies Billiards. Just as Loys described, where the stained wooden structure wasn’t bleached in parts from the sun, the rest was taken up by a bay of windows, reflecting the light from the mid-morning sun as it stood now, but a feature that Minerva guessed would impressively showcase the interior when darkness fell. No sign hung off the building. Not an uncommon sight here, but one that made sense given the insular population. If it was the only billiards in town there was no need to advertise what no one else could offer.

She let herself turn twice around at that intersection, trying to place which buildings stood where were the need to arise in the near future. To the right of the hall heading north was a separate establishment that shared the same building, Kixos Tavern. To its left heading west, this a separate structure, stood another smithy, the third Minerva had seen here. The rest in the area weren’t of any particular note: a barber, a few storefronts, another inn, half of all without signs.

Enough time looking, she continued to follow the two men, who had turned down the west facing street and made it another hundred paces ahead, at the end of which stood open wilderness.

Another few minutes spent walking and soon she reached the end of that street, occupied on either side by small homes spread further apart than the buildings closer to the main part of town. Here she stopped, sure that were she to cross that divide from city to desert they would catch her with a simple backward glance.

Now she looked beyond the two men, trying to spot any sign of their destination. It took several careful scans across the horizon, but finally she found what it may be. A farmhouse, sitting starkly white against the red dirt far in the distance, the flatness of the expanse warping any sense of just how much space stood between it and the end of the street.

She could only watch now. If there was a god, Heian was in their hands.

Satisfied and yet simultaneously defeated, she turned, slugging through her steps on the way back towards the intersection, leather heavy on her hips. It was still a few hours to noon, but by no means was she about to spend that time holed in a small room accompanied only by her own thoughts; which, given enough leeway, may very well instill her with the faux courage to pursue Heian and Loys across the open waste.

When her feet stopped moving, Minerva was stood in front of the swinging saloon doors to Better Skies Billiards. Peering over the curved wood revealed an interior flooded with the light of the sun running over several separate lengths of green felt and dark wood, and a nearly vacant crowding of tables that served as the dining portion of the hall.

Stepping inside, she was greeted by the shout of a dark-skinned woman with white hair who had just finished tending to an individual sitting at the bar along the furthest wall in the room.

“Hi sweetheart! How can I help you?”

Minerva smiled at the warm welcome and stepped further into the hall.

“You’re…are you Ms. Writtingham?”

The person sat at the bar chuckled as the older woman herself smiled, lightly swatting at the patron. “You must be new then. Please, Cedany is fine. Who’s asking?”

“Minerva. I was told to say that Loys sent me.”

One of two men playing billiards near the north wall gave a loud guffaw at the mention of Loys. Cedany shook her head and rolled her eyes, still grinning.

“And I suppose he also told you he’d pick up whatever deficit you took out?”

Minerva nodded, now concerned there was an unrested relationship held between the two given her less then enthusiastic response.

“Sorry, I can pay for myself if—”

“Don’t bother. I may have to drag it out of his filthy pocket myself but I always get my due from that ass. Have a seat.” She gave Minerva a kind, knowing look before gesturing to the south-facing wall lined with smaller tables laid out under the windows. 

A bit of time and an exchange of a warm breakfast and thanks later, Minerva sat, contemplating the possible end to the night, whether it was to be spent in a cold bed or a warm one.

More people began to file in as noon approached, some making an all too obvious start to their day while others came in covered head to toe in dust; none of them getting the chance to sit before Cedany could shoo them out to pat off lest they make a mess inside.

“Y’all know how this works,” she called back to the newest group as she walked back inside, doors swinging behind her. She glanced over to where the east and south wall met, where Minerva only noticed then there was a small, raised platform. At the moment, it was empty.

Cedany shook her head.

“Damn, she really is taking her time with—”

“Cedany!” A voice shouted from the back of the establishment.

Minerva craned her head to catch where the sudden burst of excitement had come from, only for her eyes to land on the same woman from this morning; now aptly dressed, yes, but still partially revealed under the only halfway buttoned red blouse and calf-length patchwork skirt under which she wore no stockings. Long, dark hair still hung loose around her face, her mouth now layered in red stain, and clutched in her hand was the same banjo from before. Minerva’s eyes widened as her mouth fell into a small ‘o’. She could only imagine the sort of chastisement that would have followed such a personage like that back in Lakebough.

“About time, my dear. Now could you please do what I pay you for?”

The girl tipped an invisible hat before turning towards the stage, greeting some of the patrons with whom she’d obviously become familiar. And then she caught Minerva’s stare.

Her own, coal dark eyes widened before settling into a devilish grin, one that felt all too familiar to the one she wore this morning.

Without breaking her gaze back at Minerva, she called out.

“Hey Cedany, give me thirty minutes.”

“You’ve got twenty.” 

She made her way closer to her in what Minerva could have sworn was a saunter, as Minerva herself stiffened in her chair with each step the girl took.

Without so much as asking, she stood the banjo at the edge of the table, swung out the chair opposite from Minerva, and sat, resting one hand on the wood while she stuck the other out, palm tilted slightly upward, expectant.

“Tala. Tell me, just how long did it take the dirt to ruin that pretty blue dress of yours?”


End file.
